


Talking To Shadows

by Perfica



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 20000-25000 words, Angst, Drama, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-18
Updated: 2004-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perfica/pseuds/Perfica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set a few years after Harry’s graduation and Voldemort’s defeat, both Harry and Severus are seeking completion in their lives. The emotions that they are feeling are remarkably similar. Will they admit to those feelings?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He apparated suddenly and fell over his feet in front of Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. No matter how many times he performed this manoeuvre, his own innate, ground-centred clumsiness conspired to work his body against himself. He picked himself up and revelled in the silence, his breath showing quick and cold in the night air. Pale glimpses of light flickered from half-shuttered windows, no movement was visible in front of the old grey stones. Harry sighed with a small grin of peace on his face.

Here; he would always be welcome. In this place, disgruntled potential employees and velvet-tongued publicity hounds could not fill his ears with nonsense. No one in this hallowed hall had ever expected him to be more than what he was – a grown man, a shell of his former childhood self. He had defeated his demons, had (against all odds) lived to tell the tale. He had graduated, fought, tried to live a normal life, fallen into swift and short depressions, then clawed his way back to his usual optimistic self.

When he felt that all the blustering and blabbering of the world was choking him, and he no longer knew whom he was, this was the place that called him home. In its bells and routine and remembered boredom, he found refuge. In the eyes of those ‘who knew him when’, his soul found peace.

Harry had not had the courage to return to Hogwart’s for over a year, had forced himself to plow on, armoured now with his age and experience. But the fight for complete independence had wearied him, he longed for something inexplicable and, in a moment of solitude, recognised the growing need in himself to return to where it all began.

*****

Just as Harry was working up the courage to touch the tattered, interesting book that sat invitingly on the edge of the coffee table, the dungeon door slammed open behind him, the noise followed by a restless looking Severus Snape.

“This isn’t good,” Harry thought to himself.

Snape stopped mid-step, spotting the intruder who had frozen with arm outstretched towards its goal. He observed the tableau in front of him; young male, tousled black hair, glasses reflecting the fireplace flames, loose clothing and mouth open in shock.

“Harry Potter.” The voice was low, menacing.

“Once again, your pathetic idea of propriety is matched only by my complete apathy to your presence.” Snape grumbled as he removed his robes and slung them messily onto the back of an armchair. Harry’s jaw dropped a fraction lower; whatever greeting he had been expecting from his former Potions Master and comrade-in-arms against Voldemort, it had not been that. He began to regret his impulsive decision to sneak into Snape’s quarters. “Maybe I should have woken McGonegall up,” he thought.

As Severus Snape began to undo the myriad of tiny buttons that plagued the arms and chest of his form-fitting jacket he snorted. “So, I see you’re back to your wonderful impersonation of a stunned fish. What is it tonight – Australian mullet? North American trout?” he enunciated carefully, finally shucking off the jacket, revealing a simple, white, long-sleeved collar-less shirt.

Harry Potter, bane of Severus Snape’s existence, Saviour of the Wizarding (and Muggle) world, orphan, warrior and hero, stood up quickly and thought furiously. How would he explain his sudden appearance, not only at his old school, but in the private chambers of a man that everyone swore to this day was his most hated teacher? Luckily, his response was not necessary as Snape removed the top of a heavy-cut crystal decanter, poured amber fluid into a crystal glass equally as ornate, and dropped himself heavily into the chair facing the roaring fire. From Harry’s vantage point, only the outstretched legs and a sliver of hand could be seen around the bottle green leather seat.

“Do you know,” Snape said reflectively, sipping his alcohol and extending his leather boots towards the fire, “I used to believe that your appearances were the causes of my daily woes. It was too…improbable that, just when I believed I had nothing petty to concern my mind, you would turn up, and then I would realise just how many things were going wrong. But I’ve given some thought since the last time and I now know I was incorrect.”

Harry nearly gasped aloud, had he just heard the Professor admit a mistake? Snape leaned around the edge of the chair and looked at the silently squirming young man. “Well? If you must haunt me, at least come around here so I have the dubious pleasure of conversing with your slack-faced visage.”

“Snape-speak,” Harry thought as he carefully walked around towards the fire, keeping a good distance from the relaxing man. “Why can’t he just say ‘Come here where I can see you’ like a normal person?”

He sat down gracelessly in front of the fire, arm propped against the companion armchair. He looked at Snape, and Snape looked at him. Harry thought Snape had not changed much in the year that had passed since they’d last been in each other’s presence.

The Professor was still lean and oddly motionless, like a steel coil ready to spring. In the light of the fire, the deep worry lines that permanently scarred his face seemed softer, his black eyes less formidable. His hair was still that glossy black, it hung and curved and feathered the shape of his face to lie dormant on his pale neck.

When Potter had last seen him at Dumbledore’s funeral (well, more like an Irish wake Harry interrupted himself, so much drinking and laughing and carrying on), Snape had been his most severe; his eyes had not glistened with tears, but with anger and sudden, unbearable pain. Harry had watched him from the corner of his eye; he did not speak to anyone, did not enter the reminiscent conversations with his fellow soldiers in the Order. He had stayed long enough to watch Dumbledore’s ashes released into the wind from the top of the Astronomy tower, had watched as his boss’s portrait was hung in the new headmistress’s office and left with a snap and a whirl of his robes. Harry felt surprisingly sorry for the man; he knew, just as Snape did, what it felt like to lose the only man that you had ever looked up to as a father figure.

But Snape did not look so angry now, he seemed replete in his natural environment. Harry thought Snape might be looking at him with fondness, but did not believe his own eyes.

“I finally understand what the connection is,” Snape continued his previous thought. “And loath as I am to admit it even to myself, I know you can’t tell anyone, can you? You’re not even real, are you? You’re a product of my disgustingly barren imagination. I did some research, that first night I saw you. Remember? It was the night after Dumbledore’s funeral, and I was walking the corridors, trying to exhaust myself into some semblance of sleep. And you appeared,” Snape said, leaning forward avidly. “You, as you were when you first arrived at Hogwarts. The same ridiculous hair, the same broken eye-glasses, the same dumbfounded expression on your face.”

Snape snorted and fell back into his chair, sipping his drink. “At first, I thought there had been a magical accident and you were being forced to relieve your youth. Had I not seen you just the day before, red-eyed and mature?” At this, Snape snorted again. “Well, more mature than I ever expected you to be. You were what, 21, 22?” Severus looked at Harry enquiringly, but continued as if he did not expect confirmation. Harry was bewildered, he had no idea what exactly was going on, but suspected that the best thing to do in this situation was to just shut up and listen.

“And then I thought that maybe you’d finally managed to get yourself killed, and I was having the misfortune of seeing your ghost, although why you would choose to haunt me is beyond my comprehension. Particularly after I tried to grab your shoulder and my hand went straight through you. That was peculiar,” Snape said, the master of the understatement.

“After I started to see you around corners and, thank goodness, appearing to be your correct age, I then wondered if I was, perhaps, finally losing my mind.”

At that, Harry couldn’t help snickering, then covered his mouth rapidly. Snape looked down at him with the slight twist of lip that denoted what passed for a Snape-smile. Harry recalled seeing it twice in his lifetime – the first time being when Draco Malfoy had snatched the snitch from under Harry’s nose in the final Quidditch game of the season (thus ensuring a Slytherin win of the House Cup), the second being when a particularly spectacular Neville-explosion in Potions had drenched the entire student population in hair-removal tonic.

“Yes, I know what you’re thinking,” Snape admitted begrudgingly, “You suspected that that had occurred many years ago. But I assure you, I have the complete mastery of my faculties now, as I have always had.”

Snape downed the last of his alcohol and stood up from his chair. His light and dark figure stood over Harry imposingly. “And then, much to my horror,” he hummed softly, “I realised that you were a product of my imagination. I had conjured your likeness up, just as I would a mug or a book, or a long-forgotten memory. For some godforsaken reason, my mind turned traitor on me. I had lost one of the most important people in my miserable, drawn-out dreary life, and my mind, my own treacherous mind, provided a substitute.”

Snape stepped closer to Harry, who clutched his knees to his chest and looked owlishly over his glasses at the man looming over him. “I don’t know why you are here Harry Potter, or why you look the way you do now, or why I see you in my chambers or in my classroom when I feel that all is lost and I can’t spend another day living.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t know why you sit quietly in the corner and watch me while I mark those pathetic excuses for academia that pass for assignments at this school, or why you stand over my bed at night when I can’t sleep, watching me twist and turn and listen to my mumblings.”

“I don’t understand why you listen to me rant and rave and recoil,” Snape sneered, frustration in his voice, “and you sit there, and you listen, and you accept me,” he finally hissed. “When have I ever wanted your acceptance? When have I ever given any indication that I do not loathe and despise everything about you?”

Harry was horror-stricken by Snape’s words. He knew that there was some lingering animosity between the two of them, but had hoped that, in the two years after his graduation and the daily battle against Voldermort, that they had finally accepted each other’s weaknesses and learnt to live with each others idiosyncrasies. Harry had long ago stopped thinking of Snape as his enemy – he was a man doing a difficult, unpraised, life-threatening job by working as a spy for both sides. On that final day when what passed for Voldemort’s soul had finally met his maker, and Harry and Severus had picked their bloodied, weary bodies up from the ground, the two men had wordlessly shaken trembling hands, until Harry fell to his knees in blissful tears and Snape had thrown back his head and howled with savage delight into the night sky. Harry did not understand where this viciousness was coming from. He felt oddly troubled that his Potions Master had such hate in his heart for him.

“But you know why Harry, don’t you,” Severus said wearily. Harry felt a sudden bloom of heat in his chest as Snape said his first name for the first time in his hearing.

“You are a product of my own mind, and you know all my sordid secrets and repressed thoughts. You know that when I can’t take it anymore, none of it, that having you near me is enough to make me believe that I can go on for just one more day.”

Snape’s voice cracked. “I don’t want you here, I don’t want it to be you. I don’t want you to help me. You,” his voice hitched, “you apparition, you image of my feeble mind, have given me more comfort and more security in this last year than I have ever had in my entire life.”

Snape’s eyes finally lowered, his rage spent. He turned from the motionless man sitting at his feet and extinguished the fire with a compact movement of his hand. Harry heard his feet slid smoothly over the carpet to a closed door on the other side of the room. “Harry.”

Harry stood silently and gazed at Snape’s moonlit back. Without turning his head Severus said, “As ridiculous as it is to apologise to something that does not exist, I am sorry for what I have said to you tonight. Things have been…difficult for me recently and I’ve taken it out of you. I don’t know why you are here, or how long you will stay with me, but…I’m grateful.”


	2. Chapter 2

Harry lay in his darkened room, covers pulled up under his chin, arms supporting his head as he lay on his back and stared at the black ceiling. He knew he would be unable to get any sleep until he sorted out the last couple of hours in his mind.

 

*****

 

Harry’s decision to return to Hogwarts was consistent with his usual behaviour; impulsive and hasty. For a while now, he had the feeling he was floating rudderless and directionless. While his graduation from Hogwarts had affected minor changes to his life (moving into his own apartment in Hogsmeade, no set schedule to stick to, the ability to be up at night without the necessary imposition of his invisibility cloak), the majority of his time was spent in the company of those who knew him well.

In the two years following his graduation and before Voldermort’s death, his hours were spent in planning tactics, designing and refining spells and counter-curses, mediation and contemplation to focus his mind and his resolve, and hard physical activity to mould and streamline his body. In his work with the members of the Order of the Phoenix and the almost daily visits from Hermione and Ron, Harry felt like he’d not left the protective womb of Hogwarts. Even the weekly strategy meetings with Dumbeldore and Snape were exhilarating.

He exalted in his ascent to adulthood and took the opportunity to involve himself in new friendships and relationships (albeit short-term ones). Once the glamour of dating a celebrity had waned, his numerous girlfriend’s noticed problems not normally associated with a man of his age; overwhelming devotion and bouts of romanticism punctuated with marathon sessions of intimacy. If you had asked any of his girlfriends why they had broken things off with him, they would have shrugged and replied, “He’s alright of course, he’s really nice. He’s just so intense about everything!” Harry took these break-ups in his usual stride, what was one more rejection when he had been experiencing them his whole life?

And he gradually began to lose those that meant the most to him. Dumbeldore had slipped off quietly in his sleep a year after Voldermort’s defeat. He was placid and peaceful to the end, satisfaction flowing from his every muscle as his final mission was complete. He allowed no one to cry in his presence, saying he was quite content to join his predecessors on the wall and on the other side. Harry suspected that it was Dumbeldore’s impending one-year anniversary that had influenced his sudden decision to return to the castle.

After V-Day (as the demise of Voldermort was now known as), and much to his own and Dumbledore’s chagrin, he had been swept away by the Ministry Of Magic. Snape’s predication became true – Harry was the poster boy for wizards and witches everywhere. Press conferences and photo shoots filled his days, pre-planned schedules thrust in his hands with the terse admonishment “We can’t disappoint the people now, can we Harry?”

Autographs, event openings, public speaking; Harry fell into his bed every night drained and unthinking. Not only was he hounded and salivated over on the British Isles, his presence was demanded overseas – all wizarding folk wished to see the Boy-Who-Lived, the Boy-Who-Saved-Their-World. Harry’s natural good manners dealt with the fans and impositions until one day he snapped. At yet another interview, where reporters with Auto-Quills quivering in excitement asked the same inane questions over and over again, Harry had stood up and told his stunned audience that while he had been the Boy-Who-Lived, he was now the Man-Who’d-Had-Enough, and they could now go fuck themselves. After, he’d regretted his words and abrupt departure, but he suspected that the press wouldn’t turn against him. And even if they did, at least they’d finally leave him alone.

After a few weeks sulking, Harry had enrolled in Auror training. The constant training and daily reminder of hexes and death made the experience a torture to him, so he quietly left before the trainers could make a scene. Ron had accepted his decision, even though he wished Harry could have joined him in his chosen profession. Hermione, ever the practical one, had reminded Ron that Harry knew all he ever needed to about protection and policing, and deserved a chance to explore other options. Like Ron, she’d known where she was going as soon as she’d left school. Before they had graduated, Gringott’s had approached Hermione – the goblins appreciative of the attention to detail and discipline she showed in her studies. She made quite a comfortable living which supported both herself and her new husband. While there were no new Weasley’s running around at the moment, Harry didn’t doubt that, once Ron had finished his training, Hermione and he would get started on the next generation with gusto.

And that was part of Harry’s problem – his friends had easily and happily settled into their new stages in life. Even Neville was making good in his chosen profession; never had the Minister of Magic found a more willing and capable Under-Secretary (and that was including Percy Weasley’s internship in the equation). Harry had been drifting now for nearly a year; never settling on a career or a partner. The only constancies in his life were his flat in Hogsmeade, his friendship with Ron and Hermione, and his unconscious and unfathomable attraction to the Hogwart’s castle.

Which led him to his current predicament. When he had arrived in the night, he had hoped for no fanfare or special fuss – his plan was to gain a room for the night, sleep in and surprise Headmistress McGonegall in the morning. He had no doubt that his presence would be welcomed, particularly as it was coming up to a difficult time of the year for all of those whose lives had been touched by Dumbeldore. When he had entered the castle, the only living being he’d met was Dobby. Dobby had squealed loudly until Harry reminded him that people were trying to sleep, had declined his offer of a five-course meal to help settle him in, and had graciously allowed Dobby to help him carry his bags to the Room Of Requirement. Harry suspected that this room was still a secret to the majority of people at Hogwarts, and was just the place to get a night’s uninterrupted sleep.

But he had not accounted for the silence. After unzipping his bag and turning down the covers of a deliciously soft bed that had appeared for him, he had stood in the middle of the empty room, rocking backward and forward on the heels of his feet. The fact was that he was not tired. The fact was that he sought human company. The fact was that, at this time of the night, there would only be one man awake who was capable of intelligent conversation. Thus Harry resolved to visit Snape.

 

*****

 

After realising that Snape wasn’t in his quarters, it was easy work for Harry to slide through the wards. Even though the threat of the Dark Lord and his minions was finally gone, Severus Snape, as predictable as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west, had left his heavily-strengthen wards up. Unfortunately for him, they parted like warm butter in the wake of the most powerful wizard of the time.

Harry spent a few quiet moments admiring the heavy decadence of Snape’s private quarters. He had never been there before, and was amazed that his normal austere Professor appeared to have a side to his personality that appreciate the creature comforts. No doubt that was to be expected from the sole heir of one the wizarding world’s oldest families, but the sight was innocuous with the picture Snape normally presented to the world. The furnishing were plush, the carpets deep, the colours muted and refined. If Harry hadn’t known any better, he would have thought he was in the wrong rooms. He had just been contemplating pouring a drink of that alluring whiskey and settling himself down for a good read when Snape had unexpectedly returned to his quarters.

And Harry had no idea of what to make of that half hour’s conversation, if one could call it that. If Harry was correct (and he had no reason to doubt himself), Snape was under the misapprehension that Harry did not exist. That in itself was strange, what was remarkable was that Snape appeared quite happy to talk to Harry’s spectre as intimately as he would a close friend (always assuming Snape had close friends, Harry was unsure as to that).

And the things he’d said! Visions of Harry shadowing his every move? Harry’s mere presence giving him comfort in the throes of his nightmares? Harry didn’t know if he should feel flattered or mortified. He had suspected Dumbeldore’s death had been a harsh blow to his former Professor, was it possible that he was indeed losing his mind? Harry bit his lip and shook his head unconsciously. No matter what had occurred that night, the tone and look of the man was pure Snape. Harry’s smirk made a single bright slash in the black room. He had to agree with the Professor, no matter what he’d previously thought; the man was as sane now as he ever was. So what to do now?

Harry sat up abruptly in his bed and urgently whispered one word. “Dobby.” Within seconds, the cheerful house-elf stood at the foot of his bed.

“Master Harry sir, is there something I can be getting for you?”

“No Dobby, but I was wondering if you would be able to do something for me,” Harry replied, slipping his glasses back onto his face.

“Anything for you’s, Master Harry. Dobby be very happy to serve you.” Dobby bowed until his long, thin nose touched the floor.

“Dobby, I want you to keep a secret for me.” Harry paused, going over the words in his head until they sounded right. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m at Hogwart’s yet. I want a couple of days to settle in without having to meet up with anyone. Could you keep it a secret for me? I don’t want the students to know, or the Professors, or even the other house-elves. In fact, if we could make sure that even the ghosts didn’t know, I’d be very happy.”

Dobby’s head tilted inquiringly to the side. “You is not wanting anyone to know you is here? Why ever for Master Harry?”

Harry scratched the back of his neck – even he wasn’t sure of what his answer would be. “Um, I think I just need to sort some stuff out Dobby. And for that, I can’t let anyone know I’m here. I need my privacy. Will you help me with that?”

“Anything you is liking Master Harry sir. Dobby even bring you your foods and stuffs here. You just call for Dobby sir, I’s not telling anyone you is hiding.”

Harry grinned at the unwavering loyalty of his friend. “Thank you Dobby, I knew you’d understand. And it won’t be for long, just till I…think some things through.”

After Dobby said his goodbyes with a guarantee of a hot breakfast in the morning and had unceremoniously popped out of the room, Harry removed his glasses and lay on his back again.

Staring at the ceiling, Harry spoke aloud in the echoing room. “Okay Snape, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m going to find out. You want to be haunted, well, I’m going to haunt you ‘till I work out what’s going on in that head of yours.”


	3. Chapter 3

Like Dumbledore, Harry had discovered that he too, did not need an invisibility cloak to move around without anyone noticing. He had also perfected a little spell that allowed him to localise a glamour; thus, he could remain unseen to all except those he chose to view him. Harry’s mischievous imagination prickled with the thought of what those two gifts would allow him to do.

 

*****

 

Snape observed the rabble of 5th years that currently populated his dungeon. Anal-retentive Ravenclaws and gullible Hufflepuffs as far as the eye could see. He sneered with distaste at the sight of the exuberant 15 year olds; this period of a teenager’s development was even more loathsome than usual. Raging hormones and petty rebelliousness did not a safe work environment make.

He moved silently along the aisles, occasionally stopping to make disparaging remarks or to remind the students to focus on their cauldrons, not their love lives. Plumes of heavy smoke and the lingering smell of dank water filled the rooms, thus all was good. The potions appeared to be coming along, if not satisfactorily, at least they were being made grudgingly.

He took a moment to sit at this desk, dark eyes sweeping restlessly as he watched each pair. In a moment of inspiration earlier in the year, he had forced the two houses to merge; thus over each station, one pedantic Ravenclaw was aided by one hesitant Hufflepuff. It was almost as much fun as watching shrewd Slytherins and fuming Gryfindors obliged to co-operate.

A flash of movement at the back of the room caught his eye. Potter stood near the door, grinning stupidly and waving. Snape’s grimace tightened as he watched Harry walk unnoticed between the students, curiously peering into their cauldrons and trying not to cough as he accidentally inhaled the unpleasant fumes.

“Gryfindors,” the muttered oath slipped from his mouth. A pair of students working nearby looked at each perplexed; there weren’t any Gryfindors in this class. As Harry reached the front of the room and unceremoniously plunked himself on the edge of the table, Snape closed his eyes and rubbed hard along the bridge of his nose. Perhaps if he ignored the boy, he’d disappear. He counted slowly to ten and opened his eyes. No, the boy was still there. And he still had that ridiculous look on his face. Snape exhaled heavily and stood up. Enough foolishness, back to stalking and sneering.

As he patiently and succinctly explained to a pair of students at the back of the class that not only was their potion the worst example of Scar-Smoother he’d ever seen, and that he was seriously considering sending a sample to the Hemlock Magical Museum for inclusion in their ‘You’re Never Going To Believe This!’ exhibit, a loud noise swung his attention to the front of the room. Melvin Bocca, a particularly obnoxious Ravenclaw, was covered in the sticky puce liquid that had started off being a reasonably good potion.

“What happened?” he barked as he rushed to the scene of the accident.

Rebecca Dickens, his unsullied Hufflepuff partner, sniffed and her lower lip trembled, “Nu..nothing sir, I was just stirring the potion when it went…bang.”

Snape looked at Bocca, who stood with his eyes closed in pain as the liquid continued to ooze over his skin. Snape growled and, grabbing his wand in one hand and the boy in the other, muttered and swirled his wand until the majority of purple had disappeared.

“Mister Bocca, are you well enough to walk?” At the sign of a hesitant nod, he gestured to a calm Hufflepuff. “El-Hazizz, take Bocca to the infirmary”.

From Harry’s vantage point, he could see tears beginning to well in Rebecca’s eyes as she looked up at the angry black body towering over her. Her lower lip trembled even more and her nose began to crinkle in an alarming manner. Harry watched as Snape’s back became straighter, his shoulders visibly tightening at the expected and unwanted display of emotion that was about to take place.

“Twenty points from Hufflepuff Miss Dickens, and a detention with Mister Filch tonight. Let’s see if cleaning cauldrons will help you learn how better to use them. Back to work!” he yelled at the frozen students who had been observing the drama.  
With a squeaky “Yes Professor,” Rebecca returned to her now empty cauldron.

Snape turned suddenly and looked at Harry like he’d forgotten he was there. His mouth opened as if to speak, then he shut it with a snap. Harry wondered if it was because he wanted to say something to Harry, but had realised he would be speaking to thin air, thus leaving himself open to ridicule by the class, or that he just didn’t know what to say.

Harry found the remainder of the lesson to be quite dull after that.

 

*****

 

Once the last of the fifth-years had tumbled out of the room, Snape knelt at the fireplace. “Poppy,” he said as he threw a handful of floo powder into the empty space.

“Ah Severus, I was just going to contact you,” the smiling face of Madame Pomfrey said.

“Class has just now finished. How is the boy?”

“In quite a bit of pain unfortunately, the Scar-Smoother has tightened up his skin, he looks like a hard boiled egg,” she chuckled.

“And have you given him anything for the pain?” Snape asked, clearly exasperated.

“No,” she said snidely, “I decided to see how long he could go without relief. Of course I gave him something, what do you think I am, incompetent?”

Snape closed his eyes momentarily. “I have a house meeting to go to. Do you need anything?”

“Nothing that can’t wait. Have fun Severus,” she simpered, clearly back to her usual good humour.

Snape stood slowly, hands pressed into his lower back as he stretched. He glanced at Harry’s silent form. “Aren’t you bored yet?”

He found Harry’s unblinking gaze rather disconcerting. “Idiot boy,” he muttered as he strode to the door. Harry wasn’t sure if he meant the injured Ravenclaw or himself.

 

*****

 

Harry giggled silently as he watched Professor Snape stride through halls of Hogwarts - gaggles of students pressing to the sides in their haste to remove themselves from his path. Snape appeared not to notice them, his long legs eating up distance as he moved with a mission. Harry kept him in sight as they entered a dimly lit corridor that had scratched wooden doors adorning each side. Snape stood in front of a portrait Harry didn’t recognise; three witches in dark green robes with black serpent motifs that slowly slithered sat on comfortable thrones in the otherwise empty picture.

As they saw the Professor in front of them, one of them stood up sinuously and asked seductively, “Yes?”

Snape looked behind him, Potter was still on his trail. He grimaced. “Why wouldn’t he be, when he’s inside your own head?” he asked himself. He came to a quick decision, it didn’t matter if Potter heard the password, it wasn’t as if he could tell anyone. “Strength in solitude,” he muttered as the three witches inclined their heads and allowed the door to swing open.

As Snape stepped through, his foot deliberately kicked the door. Those few extra seconds were all that Harry needed to sneak into the room.

 

*****

 

Harry fidgeted in the window seat, bored out of his mind. At least Gryfindoor meetings had been interesting. In the depths of the Slytherin house, there were none of the raucous interruptions that Harry remembered from his own House meetings. Okay, so maybe the Slytherins were good at getting things done, but couldn’t they have found a way of at least making it bearable?

The Slytherins appeared to make even the simplest processes dull. Students of all ages sat around the room facing a simple table placed near the fireplace. The Slytherin prefects, Rory Rasputh and Jacqueline Pitch, did an admirable job of running the assembly; motions were called, petitions listened to, grievances aired, agenda items finalised. Severus’ dark body melted into the shadows near the fireplace, his sharp profile the only thing visible as he seemed to be entranced by the crackling flames, although Harry knew he was keenly paying attention.

“Are there any other items?” Rory asked. No student raised an arm. “Professor Snape sir?”

Snape turned slowly as he viewed his charges sitting quietly in front of him. Even though the Slytherins had been behaving in a perfectly proper manner during the entire meeting, Harry saw that the majority sat up straighter and seemed to listen with greater attentiveness.

“It has come to my attention,” he began silkily, “that there are some students in this house neglecting their studies. Far be it for me to consider the relative merit of some of your courses…”

“Divination,” Rory said quietly to the Jacqueline, who snuffled and then stopped abruptly as Snape’s glare moved over the two whispering prefects. “Sorry sir,” she said breathlessly.

With a piercing gaze, Severus continued. “It is still imperative that what we do, we do well. Regardless of what is said about members of the house of Slytherin” and here his eyes swept over Harry’s attentive face, “you were placed here for a reason. You are resourceful, you are intelligent. You have a clear sense of duty and a deep understanding of the meaning of honour. When you do poorly, not only do you let yourself down, you let your fellow students down.”

“You let me down.”

Several students unconsciously squirmed.

“As your Head of House, I have always tried to lead by example. When you fail, they become my failures. Where you hesitate, you do me a disservice. Attend yourselves to what you know has to be done, and everything else will fall into place.” His careful gaze slid over each and every student. They knew they had been noticed.

“Comments?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow in challenge.

The Slytherins shook their heads, resolute looks on their faces. Regardless of what they thought of their studies, all wanted to do well to impress their Professor.

“You are excused to dinner then.”

A 7th year Ravenclaw appeared at the door as the students were leaving. He sighted Snape and whispered a few hurried words into his ear. Severus nodded, spoke quietly to the Heads then, robe swirling, walked towards the door. Harry hadn’t been prepared for his abrupt departure so he quickly leapt from his window seat and awkwardly raced through the milling students, careful not to touch any. He caught up with Snape at the end of the corridor, slightly out of breath. Snape did not look his way, but deliberately slowed and shortened his steps.

Harry peered at him from the corner of his eye, Snape looked contemplative, distant. As the Slytherins turned left towards the Main Hall, Snape turned right. They walked the empty corridors in silence until Snape said, “They’re not all bad you know. They try their best, just as I did. Just as I do. Regardless,” he said with a soft voice, “They are mine.”

 

*****

 

Harry stood to the side of the bed, watching Snape watch Melvin Bocca, who moaned and struggled under his sheets. Madame Pomfrey came into the room silently carrying a tray of ointments and bandages. She put the tray to one side and pushed the sweaty hair off the boy’s scrunched-up face.

“Thank you for coming so quickly Severus, I’m at my wits end!”

“Is there nothing more you can do?” Severus asked, his arms held tightly against his body.

“I’ve counter-acted the effects of the potion, his skin won’t be stretched anymore and whatever managed to seep in will have to be worked out of his body gradually. It’s just that he has these allergies; the normal pain potions don’t seem to help him. I’ve tried all I have, even used the weezlewood you gave me last year. That helped a bit but I don’t think it’s strong enough. He’ll just have to cope, the poor thing,” she said as she lowered the sheets. Harry saw the skin on the boy’s chest translucent and taunt, then watched as Pomfrey lathered a pinkish ointment onto his chest carefully.

Snape watched the Ravenclaw writhe under even the lightest touch. He turned abruptly for the door.

“Where are you going?” Pomfrey asked inquiringly.

“To the Main Hall. It is dinner, after all,” Snape snapped.

Harry stayed a few more minutes, watching the Mediwitch tend to her charge. Even though he had been the recipient of her help in the past, he’d never been able to watch her work up close before. Poppy murmured inconsequential nothings as she gently soothed the cream onto the boy’s skin, wrapping him in bandages and placing a clean pillow under his head. After a while he settled and she brushed the side of his cheek.

“Poor thing,” she whispered as she gathered her things and left.

 

*****

 

Even though Harry had been invisible all day, he did not feel tired, so decided to make himself completely unseen, even from Snape. He walked to the Main Hall slowly. He didn’t expect Snape to be traumatised by what he’d seen, but hadn’t he been just a little bit concerned by what he witnessed? Of all the teachers at Hogwarts, Harry knew Snape to be the toughest, but surely he couldn’t sit down casually to a meal without a moments thought to his injured student?

Harry stood at the back of the Main Hall, eyes roving as he heard the usual cacophony that accompanied meals. He looked at the main table and was surprised to see Snape’s seat empty. Maybe he was walking around insulting students? But no, Harry could see McGonegall talking quietly to some Ravenclaws, while Sprout and Hooch held an animated discussion between mouthfuls. The rest of the teachers paid quiet attention to their full plates. Perhaps Snape had decided to eat in his private quarters? Even though Harry was slightly hungry, he knew he could do without food until he’d finished off his day of Snape-watching. His stomach grumbled briefly and he promised it a visit from Dobby later.

As Harry walked to Snape’s quarters, he saw a thin ribbon of light gleaming under one of the dungeons closed doors. He listened attentively, but could hear nothing. He quietly opened the door and snuck in.

Snape had cast his robes aside and he stood with his back to Harry, hands on his hips as he looked at the bottles on the shelf in front of him, muttering under his breath.

“Weezlewood,” he grunted freely as he found the jar he was looking for and turned back to an empty cauldron that sat on a low fire. Harry stealthily lowered himself into the front row and watched the precise movements being enacted in front of him.

Snape had rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows. The Dark Mark (which everyone had expected to disappear with Voldemort’s death) was visible against his pale skin. Harry had never seen Snape work so unselfconsciously before, the sneer had dropped from his face as he carefully chopped and poured, using the back of his hand to push a hanging lock of hair from his eyes. His left arm stirred the contents of the cauldron with machine-like regularity as his right delicately gathered powders from the space beside him, sprinkling lightly and consistently.

Harry leaned his chin on his hands, watching Snape adjust the temperature of the flames with a quick flick of his wrist. He listened to the low spells whispered as Snape continued to add and stir, body never still as it created. Harry’s eyes drooped contentedly; it was quiet in the dungeons, and it was so nice and warm. He felt more relaxed then he had in days. And it was nice, that noise in the background, he thought sleepily to himself, that low rumbling. It sounded like thunder from far away, or the sound that waves make as they were pulled to and fro the ocean at the ebb and flow of the tides. “S’nice,” he thought to himself, head nodding gently, “I could get used to hearing that.”

A crash of glass made him open his eyes suddenly. “Dammit!” Snape exclaimed, a broken vial on the desk beside him. Harry saw his hand tremble slightly as he grabbed a new vial. Harry glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, it was after 11pm. He’d been sitting in the dungeons for over four hours. No wonder he was tired, and hungry too, as his stomach woke up after the rest of his body.

Snape had managed to remove the cork from the empty vial and poured a glimmering orange potion into it without spilling a drop. Once that was full and corked, he did the same with the other nine empty vials. As they sat upright and cooling, he used his wand to clean the cauldron and transfigure the broken vial into a large shallow bowl, in which he placed the ten orange vials. He put his robes back on, grabbed the bowl of potions, extinguished the fire with his wand and left the room.

Harry knew he wasn’t the most quiet of people, even when he was operating under stealth, but thought that the weary man walking in front of him wasn’t paying too much attention to his surroundings. He wasn’t surprised to see Snape open the door to the Infirmary.

Madame Pomfrey was at her desk, scribbling something on parchment and looking exceedingly distressed.

“Here,” Snape said, placing the bowl in front of the tired looking nurse. “Concentrated weezelwood with a few added extras. I’d suggest the boy ingests it every four hours until the fever and pain is gone, but I’ll leave the final decision in your capable hands.” His smirk belayed any suggestion that he’d just complimented the woman.

“Severus, I…I don’t know what to say. Was it difficult?” Pomfrey asked, clearly flustered.

Snape snorted. “Perhaps for an amateur. As for myself, it’s just a little something I whipped up to alleviate a moments boredom.”

Poppy smiled. She worked with the Potions Master for too many years to be distracted by his bombasity. “Thank you Severus. Would you like to see the patient?”

Snape sneered without comment and left with an impatient flurry of robe.

 

*****

 

Harry had tailed his quarry silently but, after seeing Snape return to his quarters, decided he needed rest too. As he stumbled into the Room of Requirement he removed his glasses and rubbed his sore eyes. He easily removed the spell that made him invisible and, yawning and easing the muscles in his neck, called, “Dobby.”

In a flash the house-elf was in front of him. “Harry Potter sir, you is tired! And Dobby knows you was not eating dinner. Can I gets you some foods now?”

“Nothing too heavy thanks Dobby. How about some sandwiches and tea?”

Dobby winked and was instantly gone. By the time Harry had removed his shoes and was settled comfortably in front of the roaring fireplace, Dobby had returned with a tray containing the requested items, plus a bowl of fruit salad and a bowl of chocolate pudding. Harry groaned in appreciation and attacked the food mindlessly. Dobby stood and watched happily.

Harry dropped his spoon into the now empty pudding bowl and sighed contentedly. “That was delicious Dobby, I needed that. Thank you for getting it so quickly too.”

“You is still looking too tired. You worked hard today Mister Harry?”

Harry chuckled. “Not really, just sort of looked around. Professor Snape worked hard today though. Has he had his dinner yet?”

“Wait,” Dobby said and disappeared again. Harry thought that his behaviour could trigger nausea in a person if they weren’t expecting it.

Pop! “Dobby asked the other elves, no one took him food so I’s went to his chambers. He’s out like a lights sir, falled asleep on the lounge in his Professor clothes. Does Mister Harry want Dobby to wake him up for foods?”

“No Dobby,” Harry said hurriedly. “Mister Harry does not want you to wake Professor Snape up. Mister Harry wants you to leave him alone or else something bad might happen to Dobby. And to me,” he added quietly. “He doesn’t know I’m real.”

“You is hiding from Professor Snape too sir?” Dobby asked.

Harry nodded. Dobby tilted his head to the side as he inspected Harry’s features. “You must know what’s you is doing then sirs.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again. There was nothing to say.

Dobby nodded wisely. “Good night Mister Harry. You want Dobby to wake you for breakfast?”

“Yes thank you Dobby. If you’d wake me up just before breakfast starts in the Hall, I’ll…decide what I’m going to do.”

Dobby winked. “You’s always know the right thing to do sir,” he said, and vanished.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry woke up in a happy frame of mind the next morning, even though the first sounds he heard was Dobby trying to quiet. When the clanging of dropped metal stopped vibrating in his ears, he risked opening an eye and saw an apologetic Dobby.

“Sorrys sir,” the house elf belated whispered.

After a hot shower and a change of clothes from the fresh pile that Dobby had placed in his drawers, he made himself invisible and quickly walked to the Main Hall. Whilst the noise wasn’t as loud as it would be later in the day, Harry still found the concentration of youthful voices a bit much first thing in the morning. After glancing at the faces of the staff, he found he wasn’t the only one.

Harry seated himself in the empty chair to Snape’s right and adjusted the glamour so he could be seen by the Potions Professor. The hand that was in the process of taking a cup of tea to the Snape’s mouth stopped momentarily then continued its journey. Harry smiled and looked at the array of food spread in front of him. He was hungry, but unsure of whether or not he could eat without being observed.

To the right of Snape’s plate, Harry saw a smaller plate that held two pieces of buttered toast. He snuck one away and bit into it with gusto. Snape watched him with calculating eyes and continued eating his breakfast. Harry took that as encouragement and snagged the other piece of toast as well. When he’d finished, he looked at Snape expectantly. Snape grumbled and pulled more toast towards himself. After placing two more pieces on his bread plate, he said, “Pass the pumpkin Potter please, Minerva.”

McGonagall and Hooch halted their conversation and looked at each other with wide eyes. Hooch tried to stifle a chuckle. McGonagall cleared her throat and, with an innocent voice asked “I’m sorry Severus, what did you say?”

“I asked you to pass the pumpkin butter, if it’s not too much trouble,” he said, annoyed.

Madame Hooch snorted and Harry pushed his fists up to his mouth so as not to make a sound. McGonagall looked slyly at Hooch and replied, “Actually Severus, you asked me to pass the pumpkin Potter.” She put an inordinate amount of emphasis on the last word.

Severus flushed. “Don’t be ridiculous woman.” He gritted his teeth. “Now, will you pass me the damn butter, or do I have to get it myself?”

Hooch could not contain herself. Snape thought she giggled in a way that was not becoming in a woman of her age. Minerva pushed the butter towards Severus and decided not to say anything once she got a good look at his eyes. Snape buttered the toast in silence, attention fixed on the bread like it was the most delicate potion he’d ever attempted. When he’d finished, he turned to Harry, who still sat there with his fists pressed into his mouth, although his face had turned a Weasley-shade of red.

“Merlin help me,” Snape muttered, as he placed the buttered pieces of toast on the plate in front of Harry. As Harry’s body began to silently convulse with contained laughter, Snape said, “What the hell,” and added a sausage.

 

*****

 

Harry spent the rest of the day spying on Snape as he conducted his classes (and was repeatedly and effectively ignored) and following the other teachers around the castle. Not only did he learn more of their personalities, he came to admire the amount of work they did, as well as the great lengths they went to keep themselves from harming recalcitrant students. After an afternoon nap, some time spent flying his broom on the empty Quidditch field and dinner in his room (he didn’t think it was wise to sit next to Snape again after the morning), he decided to walk around the castle.

Night had fallen and the halls were empty apart from Filch trailing a prowling Mrs Norris. Harry resisted the urge to kick both of them as he walked silently. Even though there was no one around, the high ceilings and ornate walls did not feel empty. There was peace in this silence. Harry was glad he had returned.

After half an hour, he got tired of being indoors so decided to walk to the lake. A solitary figure stood by the water. He was not surprised to see it was Snape. He stood to the side and watched him covertly.

Harry had come to see a different side to Snape’s personality in the short time he’d been haunting him. Of course, he was still obnoxious, petty and vindictive, but he was equally compassionate, unassuming and gifted. Harry had always assumed there were unsuspected depths to Snape’s character; after all, if Dumbledore trusted and liked the man, there must be. And for all their innuendos, the rest of the staff seemed to have a fond place in their hearts for the stern Potions Master as well.

A sudden breeze moved Snape’s limp hair from his face. In the soft light of the moon, Harry could see the strong profile that he’d always thought of as unbecoming.

Strong slashes of darkness marked his eyebrows. Eyes so deeply brown they appeared black. Eyelashes that were almost girlishly long. High, sharp cheekbones. That nose. The nose that had garnered so much criticism. Harry peered closer. Okay, it did look larger than normal noses. But it was aquiline and masculine-looking. It fit the face it belonged to.

The lips that always seemed to be twisted in a perpetual sneer were now relaxed and slightly open. Harry noticed the lower lip was slightly plumper than the upper. A glint of whiteness could be seen peaking under them. His skin seemed smooth, like cream or cotton. It clung tightly to the ridges of his face.

The wind blew again. Harry moved in closer. As errant strands were blown away from Snape’s face, Harry reached a careful hand to the back of his head, making sure he did not touch. He held his open hand there patiently, feeling the wisps touch and move in his hand. It felt soft, almost delicate. Harry rubbed his fingers together, he could detect no oiliness. He held his hand to his nose and breathed in deeply. He smelt a lingering scent composed of many substances; pinewood smoke, bitter almonds, fresh moss, heavy water, sugary syrup. A complex mixture, much like the man who carried it.

Harry thought how simple it would be to touch that head, to stroke that hair. What would Snape do if he felt a phantom hand move down his face, caressing his cheeks, pressing his lips? He could press those lips with his fingers or his own lips. Could he kiss him? Could he run the tip of his tongue along Snape’s mouth and taste? Would he taste the same as he smelt?

Harry froze, he saw that his hand had stretched precariously close to Snape’s face. Snape had been standing silently and staring at the lapping waves of the lake created by the underwater creatures. His breathing was steady and he did not appear to notice anything amiss.

Harry’s hand fell abruptly to his side. He stepped back noiselessly. What the hell what was he thinking? Kissing a man? Kissing Snape? Even if Harry was that way inclined (and he hadn’t even suspected he was) – Snape? His oldest rival? His hated Potions Professor? What would Ron say? What would the other Professors say?

What would Snape say?

Harry shook his head, bewildered by the thoughts swirling in his head. He couldn’t stay here, he needed to go away and think things out. Away from…temptation.

Snape spoke quietly, almost to himself. “Harry?”

Harry bit his lower lip – had he been seen? Did Snape realise what was going on?

“Where are you when I need you?” Snape said sadly.

Harry did not stay to hear more. In a very unGryffindor-like manner, he fled.

 

*****

 

Harry lay in darkness, tossing on his bed and punching his pillow. What the hell had that been? Okay, one thing at a time Potter.

Since when had he liked men? He could not recall any specific instances in his past that stood out. Of course, he noticed men. And maybe he noticed attractive men a little rapidly than he did unattractive ones. Did that make him gay?

He thought back to his relationships; platonic and otherwise. The Dursley’s were a prime example in what family was not about. From them, he had learnt that the absence of kindness and love hurt more than the absence of food or shelter.

Hagrid, who had shown him compassion and was the first adult he had truly trusted. From Hagrid, he’d learnt to appreciate differences. No matter what the creature looked like, or how it could potentially hurt you, Hagrid showed the same care and consideration to his ‘children’ as he showed to strangers. Hagrid judged people on a one-to-one basis.

Ron, his first and best friend. From Ron, he’d learned the healing power of laughter. Any experience shared with a friend made it sweeter. Ron had accepted him at face value, much as Hagrid had. While other students would fawn over him, Harry could always trust Ron to go through his things, steal his last chocolate, punch him when no one was looking, whisper rude words in his ear purely to see if he could make him blush. Through Ron and the other Weasley’s, Harry had seen what a loving family could accomplish. Ron was passionate and brave, was so confident because he was safe in the knowledge that he was wanted, he was loved. And Harry, by proxy, felt the same in this presence.

Hermione, the other point in their triangle. An ultra-focussed perfectionist that could burp out all the letters in her name. Hermione, who would stay up late knitting unwanted hats for unnoticed elves, was fiercely protective of her Muggle parents and just as proud of her Muggle background. Harry had learnt internal fortitude from her; the type of strength it took to go against convention and do what was morally right, regardless of the consequences.

Dumbledore, his mentor. Although he had been frequently frustrated by the man, he realised that everything he’d done to and for Harry had been for the express purpose of keeping him alive and sane. From Dumbledore, Harry had learnt the importance of folly, of seizing simple pleasures with both hands whenever they were available. And the heavy responsibility of duty. Instead of placidly standing aside as conflict brewed, Dumbledore had thrown himself wholeheartedly into the side of good. Thankfully, his hard work had had the desired outcome. But Harry suspected that, even if Dumbledore thought he was fighting on the losing side, it would not have changed his actions in the slightest.

The faces of Harry’s past girlfriends appeared in his mind. There was no similarity between them; their physical appearances had been as different as their personalities. Amelia, blonde and curvy, given to giggles and fun. Delaney, dark haired with a wicked sense of humour. Constance; quiet, studious, given to long pauses and carefully weighted words. The others flashed past just as quickly. While he had been with each of them, he’d been happy. But after each break-up, he was secretly ashamed and elated. Something had been missing in each, although he never could work out what it was. And the sex had been great, fine. Well, it had been good. Nothing earth-shattering, but Harry had never believed other’s people’s opinions about that anyway.

And if he was partial to the line of a strong calf muscle, what of it? If he admired broad shoulders, did that mean he was gay? Just because he particularly liked flat stomachs and straight hips, did that mean he was into blokes? Looking back, Harry realised that he’d admired all these physical aspects and more. And he hadn’t really cared if they belonged to a female or a male. As strange as his life had been, not much surprised him. If a scar inflicted on him as a child had channelled and strengthened his powers, why wouldn’t some secret coil inside him propel him to be attracted to his own sex? It was a fairly common facet of wizard society, up to a quarter of magical people were that way inclined. Did it bother him?

He thought about it, and decided no.

But the Snape problem. While Harry had no problems accepting the fact that women didn’t do it for him, could he accept that Snape did?

He rolled onto his stomach, irritated. It was too much to contemplate. One thing at a time, he thought to himself. You’ve just worked out you’re quite probably bisexual, maybe even a complete poof. Let that sink into your psyche before you tackle any other problems.

Feeling strangely satisfied at this conclusion, he decided that sleep was in order. A nice, peaceful, non-dreaming sleep would be just the thing to clear his mind. But his sleep that night was broken up with images as sharp as shattered glass.

 

*****

 

The celebration for Dumbledore was approaching. In two days time, the castle would be filled with well-wishers and old friends wanting to catch up and reminisce. The excitement felt by the children was palpable. Classes for the day would be cancelled and all students would enjoy a special fete on Hogwarts grounds. After his night of restless sleep, Harry spent a lot of time in his room thinking. Dobby would appear periodically and try to press food on him. After a few hours, Harry began to feel stir crazy. He walked the castle, but deliberately stayed out of Snape’s presence. He watched him from afar, the Professor didn’t look like he’d been getting a lot of sleep either.

Harry leaned into a closed doorway, watching waves of talking students walk to class. He heard a familiar voice behind him. Melvin Bocca, the injured Ravenclaw, had obviously been released from Madame Pomfrey’s clutches, and looked fighting fit as he conversed loudly with his fellow Ravenclaws.

“Yeah, my mum was furious when she found out,” he said to the interested students. “She said she was going to write a letter to McGonagall. Bloody incompetent Snape! Mum said it was his fault I got hurt as bad as I did. He mustn’t have been doing his job properly.”

A weedy looking blonde boy (that reminded Harry of what Draco Malfoy had looked like when he’d first met him) snickered and said, “Yeah, what do you expect when you get a Death-Eater to work with kids? Don’t know why we put up with the oily bastard.”

Harry nonchalantly extended his foot and tripped the blonde Ravenclaw over. The watching students had chuckled loudly as he sprawled, books scattering. “Idiot,” Melvin said affectionately and helped his surprised but uninjured friend off the floor.

As the students resumed their journey to class, Harry wondered why he had done that. The comments he’d heard were not new; hell, he and Ron had routinely said worse! But he’d felt a twist of anger bloom in his stomach when he’d heard the words of the ungrateful fifth-year. Obviously Bocca didn’t know who’d slaved away over a cauldron for hours to make his pain go away. And Death-Eater? Didn’t those young idiots know what Snape had done for the Order?

Harry reflected on previous conversations he’d heard in the same vein. Everyone was always eager to sing his praises; the courageous way he’d stepped up to the Dark Lord, the devotion he’d shown to his preparation. And Dumbledore’s memory was adulated no matter where he went – he was the general who’d led their army to victory.

But try as he might, Harry could think of no similar words of praise for Snape. Even after the final battle, where witnesses had seen him turn on the Death-Eaters from inside their protected area, rapidly flinging curses in the desire to take out as many as he could before he was inevitably killed for being a traitor, no witness, Auror or ordinary wizard or witch, had thanked him. Even after Dumbledore’s full report, where he’d outlined the full extent of Severus’ devotion to the cause, the stealth he’d worked under, the torture he’d accepted, none of that sunk into the public consciousness as easily as did the hero worship that followed Harry and Dumbledore. If Snape had been bitter before, Harry was amazed that he had the ability to mix in normal magical society without self-imploding with fury.

Harry realised he’d been avoiding Snape in the hope that this infatuation or whatever it was, would go away. Apparently it wasn’t, so he decided to act on it. Tonight, he was going back to Snape’s quarters.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry ate dinner automatically in the Room of Requirement then nervously paced the floor. Even though he was sure he would go to Snape’s rooms, he wasn’t sure of his motives. He felt a suffocating need to be in the man’s presence, even if he was to sit dumbly and just listen. He’d been cowardly for too long, better to get it over and done with, then maybe he would have some piece of mind.

Harry waited an hour after curfew so as to ensure no one was around. Even though he knew he couldn’t be seen by others, he didn’t feel comfortable walking around them anymore. He made himself invisible and quickly arrived at Snape’s door. He wondered if he should knock but thought Snape might find that behaviour strange for a ghost. With a few seconds concentration, he passed easily through the wards and stonewalls, and walked into the quarters.

Even though a fire was fiercely burning, the main room was empty. Harry noticed the half-full decanter of whiskey resting on the side table next to a used glass. Perhaps Snape was still doing his rounds? He allowed himself to become completely visible; confident in the knowledge that no one else would be here.

A low moan was heard. Harry whisked around, wand in hand. It was heard again and Harry realised it was coming from the open door that Snape had used the first night Harry had appeared to him at Hogwarts. Walking stealthily, he crossed the room and peered in.

Snape lay sprawled in the centre of his bed. Harry saw him shivering, even though he was under several thick blankets. Harry approached the bed carefully and kneeled by its side. He could make out whispered words between the moans.

“Don’t do it…please…don’t do it. I said I was sorry!” This was yelled and Harry fell back, afraid that Snape would wake up himself up. But the suffering man continued to moan and struggle.

“I’m sorry my Lord, I won’t do it again. I promise… I’m faithful. Do what you want to me…never betray you again…swear it. Swear it on my life….aaaghh!” Harry stood over his thrashing body, afraid he’d do himself some harm.

“No Lord…hate him. Hate him, wish he was dead…hate them all Lord, I swear I do.” Harry saw a lone tear escape Snape’s scrunched eyes and roll down his face.

“Wish he was dead…want him dead…want to kill him…want him. Please Lord, make them stop…want him…want him….want him.”

Harry could no longer take the torment he was seeing; even if his cover was blown and Snape hated him forever, he had to try and get him out of the nightmare. He gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed and laid a careful hand on Severus’ straining chest. The body underneath his hand bucked up in agony so Harry pressed harder, forcing the screaming man back into the mattress.

“Severus,” he whispered, moving his hand in slow circles. “It’s alright now, you’re safe. They can’t hurt you now.”

Severus moaned and his hand moved to clutch Harry’s tightly. Harry moved onto the bed, legs curled under his body as his other hand stroked damp hair from Snape’s temple.

“It’s alright Severus, I’m here now,” he chanted, “I’m here. No one can hurt you now, I’ll take care of you.”

“Harry,” Severus moaned, eyes still shut as his body started to relax.

“Yes Severus, it’s Harry. I won’t let them hurt you anymore, I promise. I’ll protect you, I swear I will. It’s alright, I’m here now.” Harry continued to croon and repeat his words, until Severus was laying quietly, his breathing returned to normal. Harry’s hand left the tangled mass of hair and gently ran his fingers down the slack, peace-filled face. Over and over he stroked, moving his hand lightly over the razor-sharp cheekbones, caressed the length of the nose, smoothed the creases still present in the forehead, lightly touched the moist lips.

“Harry.” His name was a near inaudible whisper that slipped from the mouth of the sleeping man.

“It’ll be alright now,” Harry replied. Without conscious thought, he leaned over and gently pressed his lips to those of the sleeping man.

It wasn’t until he’d left the room that he’d realised he’d called Snape by his first name.

 

*****

 

The next day was Saturday, the day before the big celebration. Harry’s sleep had been disturbed again, visions of Severus thrashing in pain overlaid with images of Severus moving in ecstasy. Dobby had been disappointed to find that Harry had not fully eaten his breakfast, the majority of food was untouched although the teapot was empty. Harry needed to find Severus.

He went to the same dungeon where Snape had made the concentrated weezlewood potion. Closing the door softly behind him, he made sure that no one else was in the room apart from Severus, who sat writing at his desk. Harry let himself become visible and walked to the front of the room. Snape must have felt a change in the air of the dungeon because he looked up, even though Harry had been silent. Harry stopped at his desk, face impassive.

Snape looked better this morning than he had for days. Although he still had dark circles under his eyes, his skin looked less sallow and his eyes gleamed brightly.

“Hello,” he said cautiously. Harry didn’t move.

“I dreamt of you last night,” Snape said quietly, eyes downcast, pretending to focus on his writing. Harry carefully sat down, eyes never leaving Snape.

“You don’t look surprised,” Severus chuckled morosely. Harry grinned hesitantly.

“Stupid of me, I’m sure,” Snape mumbled, fiddling with his quill. “Do you know what I dreamed about?” he asked abruptly.

Harry shook his head, hoping he’d be told what had caused such night terrors in the man.

Severus leaned back in his chair heavily, turning towards the rows of bottles that glimmered murkily. He did not look in Harry’s direction.

“I believe…,” he paused and swallowed thickly. “I am certain that moments of great stress in my real life have an effect on my dreams.” He snorted. “Sounds sensible, doesn’t it.”

Harry did not breath lest he wreck the moment.

“It’s Dumbledore’s Day tomorrow. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all week. What he did, what we did. What you did. What he…Volde-, the Dark Lord did to me.”

His eyes squeezed shut, as if to block an unwanted vision. “I could handle the pain. I really could. It hurt, fuck did it hurt, but I could take it. It was physical, and I knew that in the end it would stop. They…”

Here he paused, his voice hitched in his throat. He turned to Harry. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

Harry nodded slowly, eyes wide open. Snape stared into his eyes. “They would rape me, did you know that?”

Harry’s head moved slightly from side to side. Snape gave a weak sneer. “Not just me of course, the others in the Inner Circle went through it as well. Sometimes giving, sometimes…receiving. It was his way of keeping us united. Bonded. If we did these…things to each, if we were forced to interact in this way, there was less chance of anyone changing their minds. And for most of them, they enjoyed it. Even I occasionally…”

Snape turned his eyes back to the bottles. “Sometimes pain was involved, other times not. It depended on who was doing it. Lucius…” his voice hissed out the name.

“Lucius always gave, never received. It was his reward from the Dark Lord for remaining true to the cause. Unlike me,” he laughed bitterly. “Didn’t matter that I was spying on Dumbledore, didn’t matter that I could give him information from the inside. I had turned traitor once, and he was going to punish me for eternity for it, even if I was his good little bitch.”

Harry could feel tears welling in his eyes, and wondered if ghosts were allowed to cry.

“I tried to keep it from Dumbledore, but he always knew when something …particularly nasty had happened to me. He used to cry a lot, our esteemed Headmaster. He would heal my physical wounds and sit with me. But he could never heal here,” he said, and sharply hit himself in the chest. “Because I deserved it. Because I was stupid…so fucking stupid to have gone with them in the first place. And the things that I did…”

Snape lowered his face into his hands and rubbed his eyes. “The things I did to people, I deserved it. No matter what they did to me, no matter how much it hurt, no matter the filthy level of degradation I was forced to lower myself to, I took it. And I took it gladly. It was my only hope of redemption.”

Harry surreptitiously stuck his fingers under his glasses and wiped away the tears that threatened to fall. He hadn’t known! God, if he’d had just an inkling of this when he was growing up, the things he wouldn’t have done. The things he would change now in an instant if he could.

“I can’t bear anyone to touch me,” Snape whispered, eyes still closed. “And even if someone wanted to, I don’t trust myself to let them. What if I enjoyed it? What if I hurt them? What if they touch me and they pull their hands away, because they can feel my…foul soul on their clean hands?”

Snape sat up in his chair and turned to face Harry. If he noticed Harry’s slightly red eyes, he didn’t comment on them. Snape’s face was pale, but underneath Harry could see the iron control he’d used for years to contain his emotions.

“I was relieving it last night. Dreaming the same maggoty-filth I do when my subconscious decides to play little pranks on me. And then, you were there.”

Not a sound could be heard from behind the thick walls. Even the light trickling weakly through the thin slats near the roof seemed muted.

“I could feel you. I could hear you calling my name. You were telling me it would be alright, and it was. Merlin!” he exclaimed, snorting loudly and looking at the ceiling. “I must be going insane if I use one product of my fevered mind to help cast away another. Would you tell me if I was insane?”

Harry nodded, a watery grin on his face.

“Thank you Potter, I knew I could trust you to tell me the truth.” Severus’ lips twitched into an approximation of a smile. He rested his chin on his hands, one finger moving slowly against his chin. Harry recognised that gesture from days of Potions and hours of Order meetings, it was what Snape did when he was contemplating something.

“Why is it you Harry? I still haven’t worked that out. Why do you appear to me? Or a better question is, why does my mind create you to appear to me?” His eyes narrowed in thought.

“An ordinary man would believe he needed special help by now if he were to constantly have a vision but, as we both know, I am no ordinary man.”

Harry grinned at the truth of his words. Snape smirked.

“We were never friends, even when we worked together and you grew from being a boorish, insolent child into an annoying, stubborn man.”

Both contemplated that statement, they both knew it to be correct.

“Is it a sense of misguided guilt I have over your parents death? We both know I couldn’t have stopped it even if I’d known about it, but I was a Death-Eater, and they were the ones to leave you an orphan. If not for that, you may have grown up in a house that had a semblance of normalcy about it. If you had been my concern, I would have killed the Dursley’s for how they treated you.”

Harry was surprised but tried not to show it. He hadn’t known if Snape knew of his childhood, and still did not feel comfortable remembering it. It had been a long time since Harry had thought of Severus as a Death-Eater, and he’d never blamed him for his parents death.

“Do I want you? Is this…thing, for want of a better word, sexual?” Harry’s eyes widened, although Snape appeared not to notice.

“Fornication and I have never been friends,” Snape said sarcastically, “But if I was forced to choose, it would be men. Have I ever found you attractive? Certainly not when you were a child, there are some things even a depraved individual such as myself cannot contemplate without retching. But lately?”

Severus looked at Harry intently, while Harry tried not to squirm. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you Harry Potter,” his voice was low and menacing. “Or at least the real you. Your picture hasn’t even been in the papers for a while. That must be killing your ego,” he said darkly. Harry laughed silently.

“Thank Merlin I’ll never find out,” Snape said quietly. “If there’s one thing I can guarantee myself, even in the depths of my insanity, it is that I will never seek you out. I will never willingly look into your eyes and see that dull glaze of civility shutter the greenness of your gaze, as you try to think of something nice to say to the greasy bastard who taught you long ago. As long as you stay away from Hogwarts, my mind is safe.”

Snape stood up, his jaw resolute. “Better to see you like this every day of my life, then to meet you again and see how much you hate me.”

Without another glance he strode out the door, his robe snapping Harry’s face as he flew by.

Harry was not a vindictive man, nor a manipulative one. He didn’t want to cause Snape unnecessary pain but he couldn’t live like this, nor was he willing to let Snape live in this altered reality. Regardless of the repercussions, he was certain of one thing. They would meet again. Harry would surprise the school by attending the celebrations the next day.

Harry Potter was finally going home.


	6. Chapter 6

Snape pondered how easy it was for an obsession to develop from nothing. Apart from that one incident directly following Dumbledore’s funeral, the boy and his presence were absent from his mind. Apart from occasionally wisps of thought, obviously. It would be impossible for any person; particularly so deep in the thick of things, to not give any thought to the Hero of the Wizarding World.

Potter was the first thing he thought of in the morning. Even before he was fully awake, he watched the man (boy, dammit) walk behind his closed eyes, heard the soft, deep tones of his voice even though he was sure he’d forgotten what they sounded like. He had the sensation of being engulfed in firm cotton wool, the material not limiting his movement as he rolled in his bed, just supporting the stretching of his lithe limbs. He was surrounded by heat, softened by shadows, moulded by murmurs. He didn’t mind waking up anymore, although he would still rather live in that half dream life.

But now that his spectre had appeared to arrive and wasn’t so happy to leave, Snape felt his mind sending out searching tendrils of consciousness, ever on the lookout for the next bit of contact. The past few days, whilst no doubt signalling his departure from the world of sane people and his arrival into Loopy Land, had been happy ones for him. He enjoyed the surprise of not knowing when Potter would appear next. He liked the way he behaved when Potter was around.

He hadn’t been lying. When he’d said he would rather Potter’s ghost haunt him all the days of his life, he meant it. He theorised that that could lead to very comfortable life indeed. Happy, even.

 

*****

 

If Harry had truly been the attention-seeking exhibitionist that Snape had long proclaimed him to be, his appearance at Hogwarts would have been very different. He could have hidden himself on the grounds with his possessions and broom and, at a crucial part of the proceedings – perhaps when Minister Check was giving her ‘Celebration of Dumbledore Day’ speech, or when Headmistress McGonagall was giving the students last minute instructions for the day after breakfast, he could have swooped into the room on his trusty Nimbus, robes trailing behind him as he did a circuit of the Great Hall above the cheering children’s heads, a cheesy grin worth of Gilderoy Lockhart plastered on his face.

He could have dismounted from the broom right in front of the staff tables in one of his patented heart-in-the-mouth manoeuvres, where the spectators wouldn’t know if he’d manage to pull out of a dive in time before causing injury to himself or others. He could have accepted the applause, encouraged the hysteria, and made himself the centre of attention very easily.

But Harry was not the bigheaded braggart that Snape believed him to be. He had no more wish to draw attention to himself now, then when he had growing up. So his appearance at Hogwarts was very different, but he thought he’d got his message across. Harry wanted no doubt in Snape’s mind that he, the real Harry Potter, was back.

 

*****

 

As the students and staff were excitedly eating breakfast in the Great Hall, he simply waited until no one was around, removed the invisibility spell, hitched his meagre backpack to his shoulder, opened the huge doors and walked in. Wave after wave of heads turned towards him; there was not a single person in the room that did not know who he was. Dozens of smiling faces filled his vision and a few good natured “Good on ya, Harry”’s were called out. He acknowledged these with small nods and a shy grin, but always kept his eye on the prize – Severus Snape. Who sat frozen at the staff tables, face set and foreboding.

McGonagall and the other professors had left their seats and stood in a welcoming bunch under the podium. When he reached them, he finally pulled his eyes away from the silent, still seated Snape, and was enveloped in a bone-crushing hug from the Headmistress.

“Oh Harry, I’m so happy that you’ve come. When you sent your apologies we were so disappointed.” McGonagall stepped back, slightly embarrassed at her own exuberant behaviour. The other professors slapped his back and hands were pressed in his as they reiterated McGonagall’s words.

Harry snuck a peek at Snape; two dull circles of colour had appeared in his otherwise pale face. His eyes were locked on Harry.

“What made you change your mind?” Flitwick asked breathlessly.

“Uh…I,” Harry tore his eyes from Snape and looked at the tiny professor.

“Guess I just needed to be among friends. You don’t mind, do you Professor McGonagall? I would have given you warning, but it was a spur of the moment decision.”

“Not at all Mister Potter, you know you’re always welcome at Hogwarts. We’ve missed you,” she said, squeezing his shoulder.

Harry opened his mouth to tell the Professor that he’d missed them too, but his throat unexpectedly tightened. She seemed to understand and, grasping his forearm, led him to the staff table.

“Sit yourself down young man and have some breakfast. We’ve plenty of time to catch up later.”

As the professors took their seats again, Harry moved to the only empty seat at the table. The seat at Snape’s right hand. The seat that Harry had recently sat in whilst Snape had smuggled him toast and sausages.

He stood there hesitantly, gripping the back of the chair. Snape had so far not shown any indication he knew he existed.

“Professor Snape,” Harry said haltingly.

“Potter.” Snape growled, keeping his eyes on his plate but gracefully inclined his head. Harry took that to be approval, so he sat down. Plate, cutlery and cup magically appeared in front of him. He spent a few silent minutes snagging bits of food and drink then innocently asked, “Would you pass the pumpkin butter please sir?”

McGonagall and Sprout heard him. Minerva’s sly grin returned and Sprout snorted into her tea. Snape’s eyes closed in a slow blink; he shuddered, than unceremoniously shoved the dish in Harry’s direction.

“Thank you sir,” Harry said, trying not to grin. He hadn’t meant that.

As Harry ate, Snape sipped his coffee, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the side of his cup. Harry watched the movement of those fingers much like a rodent would watch the undulations of a cobra. The suspense was killing him; wasn’t Snape even the least bit curious about his appearance, or did his hate of Harry extend so far as to ignore his very presence?

“To what,” Snape quietly asked, his fingers suddenly still, “do we owe the pleasure of your company, Mister Potter?”

Harry hastily swallowed his mouthful of sausage and crumpet and washed it down with the tepid tea. He cleared his throat nervously, he’d been practicing.

“I wanted to be here to remember Professor Dumbledore sir. And I’ve found that I’ve missed this place. Missed the grounds, missed the memories…missed the people.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose. “Surely you are surrounded by people wherever you go Mister Potter – a famous hero such as yourself?”

Harry’s face flushed. “That’s not what I meant. Other people don’t know a thing about me, not the real me. They only want a piece of the hero Harry Potter. I feel…comfortable here. Safe.”

“Am I to understand that the Boy-Who-Lived has not been entirely satisfied with his lot in life recently?” Snape spoke softly, his words having a hypnotic effect on Harry. He wondered if Snape knew that his voice had that effect on people, or if it was just a lucky coincidence that had helped him to be such a good spy.

“I never was sir, and you know it. I never asked for any of this.”

“What we ask for Mister Potter, and what we get, are as different from each other as what we wish for and what we deserve.”

Harry was silent for a moment, and then with a grin said, “That’s rather deep Professor.”

Snape smirked, a sharp glint of tooth showing. “It is, isn’t it.”

Harry snorted and continued eating. Snape went back to sipping his coffee and running his fingers against his coffee cup.

“All in all,” thought Harry, “not a bad beginning.”

 

*****

 

For the rest of the day, Harry managed to surreptitiously tail Snape’s every move. During the speeches to honour Dumbledore’s memory, Harry contrived to sit directly behind Severus, noting the straight, clean lines of his shoulders and the slight curl of his hair as it hung near his face. As the fete progressed and the Hogwarts professors did their duty by walking the grounds and keeping an eye on the students behaviour, Harry would position himself at a booth that Snape would be walking past. Severus’ steps never faltered in their stride, but Harry knew he had been noticed.

When lunch was called and the house-elves outdid themselves by presenting a fabulous picnic laid on the soft green grounds, Harry filled a plate with delicious finger foods. He collected a large glass of cool lemon juice and walked to where Snape was sneering at the frivolity occurring in front of him. He stood in the shade, arms crossed and robes wrapped tightly around his body in a way Harry had always thought resembled a shroud. Snape watched Harry smiling and walking towards him, his sneer being replaced by a small look of confusion.

“I thought you might like some lunch,” Harry said, holding the plate and cup up to Severus. Snape stared at the items as if they had just offended him.

Harry sighed, exasperated. “It’s lemon juice. Sir,” he added belatedly. “I’ve noticed you’re not partial to pumpkin.”

Snape swallowed and extended a hand. “Thank you,” he gritted out from behind clenched teeth. He made no move to take the plate.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Would you mind holding this while I get a drink for myself then?” Snape extended his other hand and held the plate with the barest of grasps.

Harry mumbled to himself as he went to find himself a drink. As he grabbed a frosty beverage, he snuck a quick glance into the shadows. Snape was still frozen in his place, however he was taking a sip of his drink. Harry smiled; he would breach the walls that Snape had built around himself layer by layer, but carefully, respectfully. He didn’t want to shock him with any sudden moves.

Waving at some students he recognised from his own time at Hogwarts, Harry returned to Severus and stood by his side, not touching, but close enough to pick some pieces of food from the plate and eat them in an unconcerned manner.

“Am I to be your servant this luncheon Mr Potter?” Snape drawled. “Perhaps you’d like me to conjure up a comfortable seat and fan you with phoenix feathers while you eat?”

“I’d like to see that,” Harry said, chuckling.

“I’m sure you would, but there is as much chance of that happening as of myself being asked to be godfather to the latest Weasley spawn,” Snape mocked, a slight grin on his face.

“You never know,” Harry said cryptically, taking the plate from Severus’ rigid hand as he sipped the last of his juice. He held the plate towards Snape while keeping his eyes on the students cavorting in front of him. After a few moments, Snape took a sandwich. A ridiculous burst of pride swelled in Harry’s chest, he felt like he’d just won a battle.

“Why are you actually here Potter?” Snape asked, now apparently feeling comfortable enough to continue eating from the shared plate.

“I told you, I missed being here. Isn’t that enough of a good reason?”

“To satisfy most people, it is a tolerable excuse. But I doubt you’d tell everyone your real agenda. And you do have an agenda, don’t you Mister Potter?” Snape asked chillingly as his cold eyes stared into Harry’s.

“You know,” Harry remarked, staring back into those eyes and noting they did not fill him with dread anymore, “I’m getting sick of this Mister Potter business.” Harry cheered internally as he neatly sidestepped the question. “Can’t you just call me Harry? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m an adult now, not a student. And after all the time we’ve know each other and everything we’ve been through together, I think we know enough about each other’s character to drop some formality.”

Snape looked at Harry with a smirk. “You wouldn’t dare,” he challenged.

Harry’s lips twisted into a wry grin. “Oh yes I would…Severus,” he enunciated perfectly.

Snape snorted then looked away. “Obviously, it takes little to please the idiot,” he said as if speaking to an unseen audience.

“Well, you know what they say – small things amuse small minds,” Harry sniggered self-depreciatingly.

“Why Harry,” Severus said in mock surprise, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, “I do believe you’ve grown some sort of wit.”

“Severus, you don’t know what I’ve grown.” Harry winked, took Snape’s empty glass from his hand, and walked away.


	7. Chapter 7

“Stage one, get him to realise I’m here. Done. Stage two, engage him in conversation. Done and done. Stage three, make him feel comfortable enough around me to have a deep and meaningful and confess that I’ve been haunting him for the last week. Not so done.” Harry groaned as he lay on his bed in his newly appointed quarters at the base of the Astronomy tower. Harry had thanked McGonagall profusely for the placement; it was far enough from the student dormitories that his peace wasn’t disturbed, close enough to the staircases so he could move around freely, and didn’t have a time limit to how long he could stay. And it had the added bonus of an internal staircase that led to a secluded part of the tower that could only be reached by using that staircase.

As much as he knew it was wrong, the same thought kept playing in his mind like a dirty little compulsion. He had to know what Severus thought of his appearance at the school. He’d thought the day had gone well; Severus had been his usual snarly self but Harry suspected he’d enjoyed their interaction. He was apprehensive of exposing himself to Snape, to admitting his duplicitous behaviour. There was a chance that Severus would be furious at Harry – not only for lying to him but also for having access to his personal thoughts. If Harry had seen Severus’ anger during the Pensieve incident, he literally shuddered at what would happen after his latest indiscretion.

He didn’t worry so much about getting physically hurt (in fact, he thought he deserved to suffer a bit of pain because of what he’d done), but he wasn’t known as the Boy-Who-Lived for nothing. No, he shuddered at what this was going to cost him emotionally. Now that he had had an insight into Severus’ private feelings, now that he’d seen the man writhing in nightmares and he, Harry Potter, had brought him out of them, there was a connection between them. He did not delude himself on his chances of keeping this bond with Severus, the best he could hope for was for Snape to curse at him, hex him for good measure and throw him out of his ear with the injunction of never darkening his sight again. The worst he could hope for? Harry didn’t want to think about that.

But these fears did not stop him. Harry was Gryffindor through and through. He still needed to see Severus. He still had to follow this through.

 

*****

 

When Harry pushed though the walls of Severus’ quarters, he wasn’t sure if the man would be there. Dinner had been a grand affair, students and staff in good humour and their best robes. There were two exceptions; Harry, because he had only brought one set of robes with him, and Snape, who had deigned to make a special effort. When Severus arrived late to the table, Harry was already in his seat, and Snape had thanked him with a small show of surprise when Harry had passed over a goblet of wine. They conversed in low and even tones throughout the evening almost exclusively to each other. At the conclusion of their meal, Harry had invited Severus back to his rooms for a nightcap to continue their conversation but Snape had brushed him off, saying he had a few loose ends to tie up. Harry was not overly disappointed; he would try again next night.

Now Severus was sitting by the fireplace in much the same position he had been in the first night Harry had snuck into his quarters. Harry had taken the precaution of removing his robes and changing his clothes to reinforce in Severus’ mind that he was different. Harry remained invisible and took his former position curled up at the base of the spare lounge chair. Severus’ eyes were half-closed, but soft and dark as they stared at the flames. His body was loose and long-limbered even though his mind appeared to be in deep contemplation.

Harry noted the way the flickering flames marbled Severus’ skin; dark and light chased each other across the smooth plains. His hair appeared to ripple; gleaming and molten. His hands lay open and relaxed in his lap. Harry admired the way his body was put together; square broad shoulders that could carry vast amounts of responsibility and still be unbroken. The length of slender neck, the mobile hands that pivoted around almost delicate wrists. Lean, muscular torso sat atop powerful thighs. An incredible length of leg that was usually hidden by voluminous robes. A face thought to be inscrutable if one did not know how to look. Harry knew that Severus’ emotions played on his face with the subtlety and precision of a haiku; a widening of the eye spoke volumes, a curl of the lip sang symphonies.

Harry realised he was falling in love and made himself visible.

Severus looked up at the sudden flash of colour in his line of sight and blanched. Harry felt a faint blush rise up his cheeks as he smiled a little goofily at the stunned Professor.

“Potter?” Snape asked in a horrified whisper. Harry nodded, eyebrows rising as if to say “Who else?”

“How did you get in here?” Harry decided more practical proof was required, so he made himself invisible and winked back into view after a few seconds.

“Oh, it’s you,” Snape said in relief. He then sat up straight in his chair and said accusingly, “You haven’t been around in the last few days.” Harry’s face softened in apology.

“Not that I gave a damn,” Snape huffed. Of course not, Harry agreed with a quick nod of his head.

Severus hissed in annoyance and took a swig of his whiskey. “You know that _you’re_ here of course.” Both of them knew they were talking about the real Harry Potter.

“I was quite…shocked to see you. I’m not embarrassed to tell you that I felt a bit scared.” Harry frowned. Severus scared? Of him? How peculiar.

Severus sensed his confusion and spoke again, his voice carrying low and easy. Harry’s mind paid attention to the vowels and consonants, but his stomach and crotch was captured and gutted by the inherent growls of the husky voice.

“I liked being in your company today. More than I thought I ever would. You nearly made me laugh on a few occasions, but luckily I managed to cover it up before you’d noticed.” Harry stiffened; he’d almost made him laugh? He would pay 100 galleons to see that face crack a decent smile.

“I sat next to you at breakfast and dinner, and we talked. I found the conversations to be…pleasant. Unforced. You’re not the complete idiot you pretend to be.” Harry resisted the urge to stick his tongue out.

“At midday you bought me lunch and I wanted to throw you to the ground and ravage your soft mouth.” Harry’s jaw dropped open in surprise and his tongue unconsciously licked his top lip.

Severus’ eyes harden as he looked at the pink tip dart out of Harry’s mouth. His voice dropped and Harry felt a rush of blood collect and pool in his cock.

“I wanted to take you right there in front of everyone. I wanted to rip off your clothes and lick every inch of your skin. I wanted to hoist your legs over my shoulders and plunder your arse.”

Harry had to consciously hold back a moan.

“I wanted to squeeze those pert cheeks of yours until you howled. I wanted to bite your shoulder hard enough to draw blood as I worked your cock. I wanted to shove my fingers so far in you, you couldn’t talk for panting. Fuck I wanted you,” Snape growled.

“Why didn’t you take me?” Harry blurted out, then clapped his hands over his mouth as he realised what he had done.

Snape turned white and he slumped back in his seat. His breathing became unsteady and he squeezed his eyes shut, as if to try and focus before he passed out.

“Oh no, oh no,” Harry moaned as he swore at himself in his head. He had screwed up royally this time.

Severus’ eyes slowly opened and colour returned to his face; a deep red that spoke of either embarrassment or rage. It was Harry’s turn to go white as he kneeled up, hands held out in supplication.

“Severus…please, I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what, Mister Potter,” Snape whispered as he became enraged.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this. I meant to tell you sooner but I was having such a good time…” Harry’s words merged over themselves as he spoke quickly.

“A good time?” Snape roared as he leaped out of his seat and stood trembling in fury over Harry’s body. His hands were clenched tightly at his side, his lips almost invisible as they were pulled back in a snarl.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Harry said, leaning back so far he had to throw an arm behind himself to support his prostrate body. “I meant that I liked being with you. It was a mistake the way it happened but I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

Severus leaned over the exposed body and wrapped a large hand around Harry’s throat, tightening it enough so that Harry froze. “Oh my dear Mister Potter,” Snape spoke in a low undertone, “You haven’t made me angry. I am beyond such simple emotions as anger. There are no words to describe at this moment what I am feeling.”

Snape’s hand tightened on Harry’s throat and Harry let out a moan. “Did you enjoy yourself Mister Potter? Was it fun to watch your old Potions Master demean himself in front of your eyes? Did you like watching him raving in his bed? Did you silently chuckle to yourself at his insecurities? Did you feel sickened with pity when you found out what he had done in his dark, sordid past? Were you filled with disgust when you heard what he said, what I wanted to do with that nubile young body of yours? Did you laugh Harry Potter? Did you laugh?”

“No!” Harry exhaled as his hand clapped onto the vice-like grip at his throat. “Never laughed at you. Was sad for you. Wanted to help you. Liked you. Love you.”

Severus’ hand clenched and Harry saw bright lights sparkle in his vision. “He’s going to kill me,” he thought. “He’s going to strangle me right here and he’s going to kill me.”

Snape’s grip loosened and he pushed Harry away from him. Harry breathed deeply, sucking air into his pounding lungs. Snape picked up his glass and threw it at the wall. The beautiful crystal decanter Harry had admired joined it. As Harry lay on the floor panting and silent, Severus continued to destroy his possessions in an orgy of rage. Glasses, bottles, vials; anything breakable in his field of view was thrown with vehemence, the sounds of objects being destroyed punctuated with the sounds of him screaming with passion.

“Why does it always,” smash “have to be” bang “fucking” crash “me?” thud.

Harry was still upset that he had caused Severus pain, but wanted to make sure he was heard before things got too much more out of control. He rose to his feet and advanced on the furious man.

“This is not just about you,” he screamed into Snape’s face, hoping that shock tactics would work. “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way but that first night you needed someone to talk to and I was there!”

Snape whirled on him; he straightened, using his extra height to his advantage. Harry refused to be intimidated.

“I just wanted to spend time with you, and the more I did it, the more I liked it. I never laughed at you, you dickhead. I respect you too much to laugh at you. I’m sorry for what happened to you in the past, for what I did to you in the past. But I want to make it up to you. I love you, you git!” he cried in frustration.

Snape’s eyes hardened at what Harry said. “You don’t know me,” he growled.

“Yes I do,” Harry countered, eyes shining bright. “I know that you’re intelligent and passionate and trustworthy and powerful and you’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a person and I’ve just worked it out and I don’t just want to fuck you I really love you and why are you looking at me like that?”

“How could I ever trust you again Harry?” Severus murmured.

Harry’s rage was spent and he panted lightly. “I don’t know,” he finally said, a note of defeat. “But I meant what I said – I didn’t mean it to turn out this way. Why can’t you believe me?”

Severus shook his head lightly. “You claim to know me and you ask me such a question. I am a fool, and for you, of all people to see it, I can’t bear…”

Harry was sick of words, words had done nothing to breach the rift between them. He grabbed Severus’ shoulders and pulled the man down into a kiss. Harry mashed his mouth on the cold lips as he tried to express with actions what he could not convey in words. After a moment, Severus pushed his body away.

“You know me so well that you would force me?” Snape said, tears welling in his eyes.

“No,” Harry groaned, “I didn’t mean…” He stopped speaking as Severus rushed to his bedroom, door slamming loudly behind him.

“Oh fuck,” Harry whispered, tortured. He ran his fingers through his messy hair and pulled at the locks savagely. “You stupid prick, my God, what have you done?” he berated himself.

He paced the room, paying no attention to the shards of glass and metal that lay on the floor. His emotions were keen and tight in his chest; anger at himself, indignation at what Severus had said, throbbing pain at what had occurred between them. It built up with such force that he began to weep in frustration, angry tears streaming from his face as he realised the amount of damage he had done. Because of his stupidity, because of his lust and his damn impulsiveness, he had hurt the one person he had ever had these feelings for.

As time passed, his anger waned but the sadness building in him welled. He couldn’t leave like this. He couldn’t let that be the final words spoken between them. If he had to grovel and plead and beg for forgiveness, he would do it. There was no level he would not stoop to, to regain the trust he’d once had.

He walked to Severus’ bedroom door and discounted the idea of knocking. After all his mistakes, impoliteness would have to be added to the list.

Severus was sitting on the edge of his bed, his head fallen into his hands. His body seemed to coil around himself as he shook. Harry’s tears began to flow again, they fell from his eyes moistly and freely. He had not cried like this in his entire life. They spilled down his cheeks, running past the frames of his glasses and dripped down his chin to fall silently onto his shirt.

Harry knelt at Severus’ feet and placed a gentle hand on his knee. “Severus,” his breath hitched in his throat.

Severus looked up slowly, his own tears sliding down his face. Harry’s crying intensified when he saw this – in his entire life, no matter what had happened to the man, he had never seen Severus cry.

A long finger touched itself to his cheek, capturing a tear as it slid down his face. It rubbed the salt-water into his skin, a soft caress that tore his heart out.

“Tears, Mister Potter?” The words were spoken entirely without rancour, more questioning than accusatory. “There aren’t enough tears in me, nor enough time in the world to shed them, to show you what you’ve done to me.”

“Please,” Harry beseeched. His heart and mouth were too full, all he knew was that he had to say this. “Severus,…Sever-,” his breath caught in his throat. “Severus, please,” he begged again, no longer knowing what he begged for.

Severus’ thumb swept softly over Harry’s lower lip. “You have taken everything I am from me,” Severus whispered. “At least leave me to my misery. I don’t want to see your face anymore.”

With a heart-wrenching moan, Harry stumbled to his feet and left.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry haunted the corridors outside Severus’ rooms much as he had haunted the rooms themselves. Day after day, at any hour, the students and staff of Hogwarts would see the famous Harry Potter walking listlessly to and fro, or sitting against the walls with his knees up and his head down. After a few well-meaning souls had enquired as to his health and he had to hold himself back from throwing spells, he decided to change his plan. Hours of fruitlessly banging on Severus’ doors had not gotten him anywhere.

He could feel that the wards on Severus’ doors had changed, and instinctively knew he could pass through them, but refused to betray the man’s trust again. He had tried pushing notes under the door but the papers had quickly incinerated. He had sent Hedwig to deliver the notes straight to his quarters, but she had returned with the notes still attached and a ruffled look to her feathers. He had pleaded with the other professors to act as intermediaries but they had sadly told him that they too had no access to Professor Snape.

After days of rejection and failure, he had gone searching for the Potions Master in his classes, but at the sight of a casual teacher taking his place, had rushed to Headmistress McGonagall’s office. She affected to have no idea of what was going on, but tried to calm him down. No, Professor Snape was not teaching right now. Yes, she was in constant communication with him, he had requested and been given personal leave. No, Harry could not see him, he didn’t wish to see anyone. Yes, of course he was still alive, what a foolish thing to ask. No, she would not pass on messages for him. He must wait patiently if he wished to see Snape.

Harry wanted to kick his chair over in frustration but held back. Minerva’s eyes looked up sorrowfully at him, he was a complete wreck. His eating habits were sporadic, his sleep almost non-existent, he snapped at anyone who spoke to him. He was not the pleasant young man she had once known. Not even in the dark days of Voldemort had she seen him suffer so. Minerva did not want to pry but had tried to get Harry to talk. She had a fair idea of what was going on – no one who had seen the two men speaking to each other could doubt there were feelings between them, but were the feelings mutual? Obviously, they had had a major falling out, and for Severus to not go to his classes; Minerva knew it must have been something monumental.

Harry left her office no better off than when he’d gone in. In his heart, he felt that he had lost all hope but refused to give in. His stubbornness once again overrode his intellect. Fine. If the man refused to speak to him one on one and wouldn’t receive his notes, he would find another way to communicate. The man had to eat, didn’t he?

Harry decided to enlist the help of Dobby. After many hours of stopping and starting, he had finally finished his longest letter.

 

 _Dear Severus,_

 _Please, don’t throw this away without reading it. I know what I did was unforgivable but I want to explain why I did it. The night I came back to Hogwarts, you were the only thing on my mind and I didn’t know why. Yes, it was wrong of me to sneak into your rooms but I meant no harm in it. I thought you’d be mock-annoyed than we’d have a drink and a conversation before I left. I had no intention of pretending to be anything but myself, but when you started speaking to me in that way, my curiosity was peaked. Yes, I know I should have told you of your mistake straight away, but I felt happy that you trusted me enough to speak to me that way, even if you thought I wasn’t real. The fact is, you thought of me when you needed comfort, and I was glad to give it to you._

 _And the next time, I just wanted to see you in your natural surroundings. I wanted to see if the man I’d listened to the night before still felt the same in the harshness of the day. And you did trust me, you still spoke to me even if you didn’t want to. And it made me happy again. I know I’m repeating myself but you don’t understand what its been like to be me lately. I’m not going to waste your time complaining, but I’m telling you the truth when I say that precious little has meant anything to me like being in your presence has._

 _I started to think differently of you then. I started to see you as a man – a real man, not the one I’d been imagining as I’d been growing up. And I’m sorry to say this, even if you don’t believe me and even if it hurts you, I fell in love with you. You said that night that I don’t know the real you but you’re wrong. I’ve seen you at your worst Severus Snape – the snide comments you throw at your students, the hateful things you used to say to me when I was growing up (and I understand now why you did that, so please don’t be angry that I mentioned it). I’ve seen you bitter and twisted with hate and loathing, and so caught up on revenge it made me want to throttle you. You’re finicky, obsessive-compulsive and uptight. You’re like a dog that’s been beaten all its life – you snarl and bark at everyone so you won’t be hurt again. And I wouldn’t change a thing about you._

 _I’ve seen you at your most vulnerable, and you let me give you comfort. Even if you didn’t know it was me, I’m grateful. I’ve listened to your most private thoughts as you opened up to me. I’ve seen how you work with humility and devotion in everything you do. I’ve watched your face soften in quiet contemplation and I am stunned at how beautiful you are, how beautiful you have always been, and I kick myself for not seeing it before._

 _So I love you Severus. Over the years I’ve seen your worst, and over the last week I’ve come to realise your best. I know you don’t understand why I would love someone like you, and I don’t know if I can explain it here. The stupid thing is I’ve never had a boyfriend, or even a proper girlfriend. Every time I’ve tried to get emotionally involved with someone it never worked out. Idiot that I am (and I know you agree with me), I didn’t even realise the feelings I had meant that I could love a man like this. So I guess I’m gay. But it’s not even that. There’s no one else that makes me feel like you do – all frazzled and furious and horny and teary and worthy and safe and loved. Because no matter what you say, I think you do love me Severus. If it had just been lust, you could have gotten me out of your system a long time ago. You may have been thinking about me for a longer time, but that doesn’t mean my feelings are any less important._

 _I want you to forgive me Severus – not for myself, because no matter what happens, I’ll never forget or forgive myself over what I’ve done to you. I want to make it up to you, I want to prove to you that you deserve love, that you have nothing to be sorry for. That everything you’ve even done in your life was for something good._

 _I’m starting to ramble now and I know that must infuriate you. But everything I’ve said in this letter is true. I just wish I could say it to your face._

 _I’m not leaving Severus, I’m going to give you time to think this over. But if you really don’t want me, if you really don’t believe what I’ve said, then I will go. Not because I want to, I’m going to carry you with me in my heart for the rest of my life, no matter where I am. I’ll go so you can get your life back together._

 _Come out of your rooms Severus. You won’t believe me but you are missed. The students celebrated at first but now they miss having you teach them. Your colleagues are worried about you, they respect you too much to invade your privacy but I can see how fearful they’re getting. You have too much to give to this world to hide yourself away because of the actions of one stupid boy. Hate me if you want; hurt me, hex me, god knows I deserve it. But don’t let your life waste away because of my foolishness._

 _Please come out. I miss you. I love you._

 _Harry_

 

Harry folded the letter up tightly and gave it to Dobby, who had watched patiently as Harry read the missive one more time.

“Will you please put this on Professor Snape’s tray the next time you take food to him?”

“Yes Mister Harry sir,” Dobby replied quietly. He hated seeing his wonderful saviour like this, but didn’t know how to make things better. “Is there anythings else I can do for you?”

Harry shook his head desolately. “No thank you Dobby, I’m…I’m alright. Just make sure he gets it, and will you tell me when you deliver it to him?”

“Of course Mister Harry.” Dobby placed a tentative hand on Harry’s arm, stroking it softly. “You is sad.”

Tears welled in Harry’s tired eyes. “Yes,” he replied shortly.

“I’s sorry.”

 

*****

 

Harry spent the rest of the day walking the grounds of Hogwarts, his mind full as his feet trod on and on, never taking a certain direction. He hoped that this last plan would work, he was out of ideas. But he meant what he’d said, even if it broke his heart, he would leave Hogwarts and never return if that was what Severus wanted. Even though he wasn’t entirely friendless, he would wander the world, heart heavy, never knowing his place. If that was to be his penance, he would gladly take it. He now understood the dark pleasure in repentance that Severus had suffered most of his life; Harry wanted to wallow in misery and feast on his heartache. He had done this. He had ruined the one thing that meant anything in his life anymore; thus, he deserved to suffer. And he would suffer, he meant to make sure of it.

Night fell cold and crisp. Dobby had arrived shortly after Harry had returned to his quarters with dinner and the message that he’d delivered the letter to Professor Snape that afternoon. Dobby said he had made a point of drawing it to the professor’s attention before quickly leaving. Harry was relieved to know that it was at least in his possession, and that he had done all he could.

After Harry had stared disinterestedly at the tray of food Dobby had left him, he had felt suffocated in his quarters and trekked up the internal staircase to the private balcony of the Astronomy Tower. A slight wind ruffled his hair, lifting it and exposing his scar. The night was completely silent, even the Whomping Willow was still. He was at the highest point of Hogwarts and had a view of the entire grounds, but there was no movement. The sharpness of the many stars shining above him blurred as tears once again filled his eyes. It had finally come to this.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, centring himself. Using a little of the powerful magic inherent in his body, he opened his mind and cast out thin strands that searched the psyches of the people in the castle. He touched lightly as he scanned the many consciousnesses, dipping and seeking. He passed over the spongy thoughts of the students and the more individualised compartments of the professor’s minds. They weren’t what he wanted.

At last he felt it; the crystallised form of Snape’s mind. He’d felt it strength and solidity in the many times he and Severus had trained in the past, but now knew he could break through those barriers easily. He touched on Severus’ mind, stroking it softly to make him aware of another’s presence. Before the intellect could register the intrusion and close him off, he withdrew quickly and left his mind completely open. Eyes tightly shut, hands clenched on the railing, he prayed that his mind would be invaded.

And then he could feel it – a tiny, inquisitive movement. It poked sharply and withdrew suddenly, as if to test the waters. Harry forced himself to breath deeply and remain open and trusting. His mind was touched again, this time the touch was broader and more obvious. It lapped the extremities of his consciousness and he wished fervently that it would go deeper. “Please.” He sent that one word Severus, hoping it wouldn’t scare him away.

Many minutes went by and Harry thought he had failed. Just as he was about to sob, he felt the mind again. But this time there was no gentleness in its movement, it plunged deeply. And Harry let it happen. Saw the images of his own lifetime scatter across his mind, felt all the emotions that went with those played out again. Saw his behaviour of the last week, felt what he had felt the entire time. A tiny bit of shame registered within himself as he realised how artless he had been, how lacking in tact and decency. But the mind continued to delve, forcing him to reveal and relive his every moment. It was hard this intrusion, for so long he had trained to keep everyone out, but knew this was the only way Severus would see he’d meant every word he had said. He sent pulses of happiness and acceptance to Severus but did not try to push him away or seek answers out of his mind. This was all for Severus. Let him do what he must, let him see enough humility and regret in Harry’s life that he never felt ashamed again. Harry kept himself open, and finally revealed his true self.

And suddenly it was gone. Harry shook his head, feeling strangely bereft. He had hoped that Severus would have sent a thought back, an emotion, one single word, but he had left as abruptly as he came. Harry did not hold back his tears now, he sobbed alone at the top of the Tower.

And felt, rather than saw, a large dark figure fly like a bat and land next to him. Severus dropped the broom and grabbed Harry’s chin, holding his face up to the moon so he could peer into his eyes. Harry didn’t want to move, lest he make a mistake. Severus’ lidded black eyes stared into his, searching, scanning. His face was taunt; lines furrowed his forehead and his grip on Harry’s chin tightened.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but realised he had nothing to say. Everything that could be spoken had already been said. Everything he felt, he had already offered up.

And the look on Severus’ face changed. His eyes softened and his face relaxed. His grip loosened and the hand placed itself on Harry’s cheek. Harry gasped as Severus’ mouth came down upon his, soft, sweet. Harry tried to hold back a whimper as Severus’ eyes closed and the kiss became deeper. His mouth opened willingly and he felt Severus’ tongue caress his lips. Harry’s hands moved without thought, they worked their way up to Severus’ shoulders and gripped painfully, as if he was afraid that Severus would leave.

Severus’ hands moved into Harry’s hair, threading through the soft locks and drawing his head back. Harry felt exposed and flowing and he loved it. He loosened his grip on Severus’ shoulders and enfolded the body into his by pressing on his back. They melted into each other, hands moving slowly as they caressed and kissed.

Severus broke the kiss off and held Harry’s face up to his. “Do you know what you’ve done to me?” he whispered, staring closely into Harry’s eyes.

Harry shook his head, a look of despair starting to come up on his face.

“You’ve made me love you,” Severus said, and kissed him again.

With a moan of joy, Harry threw himself into the hot kiss. Their movements became more wanton, more needy as their bodies arched into each other’s. Still kissing like they were drawing breath, Harry led them down the stairs into his rooms.

When Severus felt the side of the bed press against his legs he stopped. Harry watched him with a look of understanding on his face.

“I don’t want to force you into anything you don’t want to do,” he said quietly, reassuringly stroking Severus’ chest.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t think I can do it right,” Severus replied, a waver of fear in his voice.

“I trust you,” Harry said, pressing kisses on his face and neck.

“There has never been anything but pain.”

“I know you won’t hurt me. I love you, and I want you to love me,” Harry whispered.

Severus drew Harry into his tight embrace, nipping gently at his neck. Harry arched against him, revelling in the heat and strength of the larger body.

They undressed each other slowly, worshipping every part of their bodies as they were exposed until they were completely naked in front of one another, just as Harry’s mind had been before.

Harry guided Severus’ body to lie on top of his, moving his hands slowly over the warm skin. Severus glided his hands down Harry’s body, kissing the soft skin under his arm, licking the raised nubs of his nipples, scratching his chin against the tufts of hair on Harry’s chest. Harry’s head rolled on the pillow, eyes closed in peace. He felt Severus move away and heard him open the bedside drawers, rummaging around for anything that could pass for lubrication. Harry sat up and found a small container of hand cream he had been using to keep his callused hands pliable. He placed the container in Severus’ hand and licked the chest that was invitingly exposed in front of him. Severus moaned and grasped Harry’s hair, Harry moved up to suck deeply at his neck.

Severus shivered and gradually eased his body away from Harry’s. He opened the container and looked hesitantly at Harry. Harry smiled and lay back, knees falling to the side as he exposed his body to Severus’ eyes. As Severus dipped his fingers into the cold cream and started to rub gently at Harry’s cheeks, his tongue dipped and licked his stomach until Harry was letting out gasps. Harry felt a finger slowly slide in, wriggling and moving against his hot flesh. As Severus swiped his tongue over the head of Harry’s dick, he inserted another finger and twisted with a bit more force. Harry cried out and Severus stopped, his eyes seeking Harry’s.

“More,” Harry sighed with a smile, his hand pushing a lock of Severus silken hair from his face.

Severus placed a chaste kiss in the centre of the palm, then his mouth enveloped Harry’s dick as he inserted a third finger into the tight hole. Harry had experienced oral sex before, but this was bliss like no other. He could feel heat and pressure and it felt so good, it was like nothing else, he never wanted to stop. His hips began to jolt upward into that welcoming cavern as Severus’ fingers continued to fuck him. Severus began to suck and Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer.

“Now, please, I need you,” he slurred, eyes half-closed in pleasure. He grabbed the container from Severus’ hands and, lathering up a hand, fondled and stroked Severus’ glistening member as he clenched the body closer to his. He pressed his cheek into Severus’ lean stomach and felt fingers thread themselves through his hair, massaging the nape.

“No more, or I won’t be able to stop,” Severus whispered, pushing Harry’s hands away from him. He pressed him into the mattress and kissed him with abandon as he lined himself up outside of Harry’s hole.

“Yes,” Harry groaned as he felt Severus begin to slide into his body. He was so aroused and prepared he felt like his insides were made of silk. Severus pushed until he was completely in, his body laying flat on top of Harry’s.

“Merlin, how I love you,” Harry whispered as a tear leaked out of the corner of his eye. Severus licked it off his face and began to move inside him. Slow, smooth thrusts at first as their bodies adjusted to the feelings. Then harder, swifter, as Severus sucked on Harry’s neck and Harry clawed at his back. It became impossible for the exquisite feelings to last, Harry came soundlessly, body jolting in completion. Severus soon followed, screaming Harry’s name. Even after they had both achieved orgasm, Severus didn’t leave Harry’s body. He kissed the swollen lips and smoothed the dark hair as Harry smiled in pleasure and ran his hands over as much of Severus’ body as he could reach. Eventually Severus found the position restrictive so he lay next to Harry and they tangled their bodies around one another.

“My Harry, my own,” Severus murmured as he licked the soft expanse of neck next to him.

“I am you know,” Harry replied, feeling light-headed and whole. He pulled Severus’ face to his and kissed him soundly. “Are you going to push me away again?” he asked hesitantly.

“They’re going to have to pry you out of my cold, dead arms before I let you go again,” Severus said seriously. Harry grinned; it was nice to see Severus had a romantic side.

“So Severus,” he asked teasingly, “do you still love me now that you’ve had me?”

“My foolish, impulsive, thoughtless, conniving, dim-witted, idiot boy,” Severus replied, leaning in to kiss Harry between every word, “I have always loved you, I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. Or you, for that matter.”

“Even though I’m a man that hurt you deeply,” Harry admitted, slightly troubled. Severus moved so he could look into the worried eyes. His words were low and sincere. “You are a man, and you did hurt me deeply, but you made up for it. Only a brainless Gryfindoor such as yourself would have opened himself up to possible harm like you did tonight. How could you have let me see into your mind like that? Don’t you know what I could have done to you?”

Harry kissed the tip of his nose and snuggled closer to him. “I told you before, I trust you. I don’t want to hide anything from you anymore. I want you to see who I really am.”

“I have always known who you really are Harry Potter, and for that, I have always loved you.”


End file.
